


Ragged Old Flag

by BossPotato01



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Asphyxiation, Background Poly, Depression, Guns, Longing, M/M, Multi, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, rope
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:49:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25606894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BossPotato01/pseuds/BossPotato01
Summary: America is breaking. He needs out. But will the others let him?
Relationships: America/England (Hetalia), America/Russia (Hetalia)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 48





	Ragged Old Flag

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, please seek help if you're struggling! Suicide is not a fix to problems, dears!

Alfred was so tired. Why was he so tired? He didn't know. There were times he went days without sleeping, other times he couldn't get out of bed for almost a week. But he always forced himself to be chipper. The other countries expected him to be, right? They needed him to be.

But not lately. No... these days, nobody could take him seriously. Mistake after mistake seemed to tarnish his name- why couldn't he do anything right?! Alfred pulled at his hair, his breaths speeding up. All the others hated him, he knew it was true.

Why did he always make the others so angry? Why couldn't he keep his mouth shut, behave, be smart for once? Why was he such a failure!? His heart was pounding in his chest as he paced; he felt as if his head was going to explode. He was supposed to be this great nation! A bright, dream-chasing, risk-taking, ass-kicking country. And yet... he was falling to pieces.

STOP. JUST STOP.

The world froze. Alfred's heart, which had been racing so loudly he was worried the next room could hear it, was suddenly calm. An overwhelming sort of numbness came over him. "I am going to kill myself," Alfred said, slowly speaking each word. He hugged his chest, closing his eyes tightly. "I just can't do this anymore," Everything was numb. This new decision had brought some strange, blissful panic over him. It'll all be over pretty soon. Let's not waste time, alright? He told himself, staggering over to his desk. The others deserved a little goodbye, right? Not that they'd care, but... it felt right. He pulled out a sheet of paper and a pen and began to write.

Arthur,

I've really made a mess of everything, haven't I? In my not yet three centuries, I've ruined the way things were. Weren't you all happier before me? Before I blundered in, so loud and intense. I... I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. I... I never should've rebelled. It only made everything worse. I know I've hurt you- I hurt everyone, didn't I? That's just the way I am. I'll get out of your way now.

He didn't sign it. They'd know who it was from. He wanted to write more, but his hands wouldn't stop shaking. That was enough, he thought. Arthur probably wouldn't even read it all. It didn't matter. Alfred sat stiffly at his desk, alone with his paralyzing thoughts. He wanted to get up and just get it over with, but he just couldn't find the strength to. He tried to move, but for the life of him, he couldn't.

So, he just sat.

Alfred sat, alone as always, with nothing but his thoughts and the letter. He was a pitiful sight, he knew. If one of the other countries walked in, he was sure they would just laugh at him and to tell him to stop being lazy. He was supposed to be a proud nation, after all. He had obligations, responsibilities... or at least he should have. It doesn't matter anyway, not now. It will never matter again. His anxiety spiked at the thought alone. He knew it probably wasn't right that they would laugh, that it was perhaps just him being stupid, but it still was agonizing to think about it.

Alfred slowly stood up from his chair, a blank look on his face. he glanced in the mirror. His eyes were so lifeless, Alfred mused, in his madness, that perhaps he was already dead. He stepped away from his desk, folding up the letter. His whole body was sore, and his legs felt numb. How long had he even been sitting there, just spiraling in his own self-depreciation?

Alfred unbuttoned his jacket. Was it hot, or just him? Alfred could hear his heartbeat began to rise again. Time to get this done. There is no time better than this. And with that, Alfred left his room, paper in hand, and made his way to Arthur's room.

It was a world conference and they were all staying in a hotel. He passed Ivan in the hall- the nation muttered something in Russian, glaring at him. Of course, he deserved it. He had been on such bad terms for so long with Ivan, now, in the end, he should at least try and say something...

"Russia?" he called, his voice sounding a little broken no matter how hard he tried to fix it. The nation turned around, seeming as if he was about to cast an insult, but stopped in his tracks.

"America, you look unwell," he tilted his head to the nation, his brow furrowed.

Alfred cleared his throat. "I'm... I'm fine. I just wanted to apologize."

Ivan scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Oh, you must be unwell!"

"I'm so sorry, Russia. I've been a real dick to you, all these years. I'm not trying to make some peace treaty or anything- not today," (or not ever, he thought. He'd be dead past today) "but I wanted you to know."

Russia was still, his mind trying to process what the other country was saying. Alfred sighed after a moment, seeing he wasn't going to get a response. "I'll be going. Take care, Russia." His eyes looked so dead, Russia realized. What was wrong?

"America!" he called after him, but the country disappeared down the hall in a few quick steps.

Ivan didn't want to care. He shouldn't have cared. But those beautiful eyes had been so dark and dead, like the coldest Russian winters. He had to find him. "America!" He shouted as he sprinted down the hall. "Alfred! Do not hide from me!"

___________________________________________________________________

Arthur heard a soft knock on his door. "Who is it? I'm rather busy," he called, not looking up from his desk.

"America. Can... can I come in?" Arthur didn't notice the broken tone of the younger nation's voice.

"I don't know, can you?" He huffed, smirking to himself.

"...may I come in?" came America's voice after a few long moments.

"Briefly. Do not touch anything or disturb me for very long," the brit said with an exasperated sigh.

Alfred stepped into the room, his footfall quiet. "Arthur, I..." he muttered, his voice failing him. The older nation didn't look up, continuing to work on his proposals for the conference. Alfred steeled himself and placed the letter on the corner of the desk, trying to still the trembling of his hands. "This is for you."

"Oh? I didn't realize you were acting as a postboy, America. Who's it from?" Arthur asked passively.

"M-me. It's from me."

Arthur chuckled, glancing at the ex-colony. "You? What, is it something you can't tell me in person? This best not be some trick." His gaze lingered. Alfred quickly rubbed some of the tired dampness from his eyes. "Are you okay?"

Alfred gave a very forced looking smile, holding up to thumbs-ups. "Oh yeah, totally all Gucci with me! Uhm, I just wanted you to have that; read it after the conference- or never! It doesn't matter."

Arthur hummed, looking back to his work. "...okay. I guess I'll see you at the conference tomorrow."

"Y-yeah," Alfred said, already leaving the room. "See you."

It did not escape the brit's notice how he stumbled out, his voice cracking. Drunk? Unlikely- he'd seen America drunk before, this was different. Perhaps he should go see what the matter was after he finished this draft. It'd only be an hour or two...

_________________________________________________________________

Alfred heard Russia yelling his name, somewhere way off. It didn't matter. Whatever Russia wanted, it didn't matter. Nothing mattered.

Alfred leaned against the door in his room, looking around. This was it. The end. He numbly dressed up in his nicest uniform- ideally, they'd bury him in it, if they cared enough- and it filled him with a solider's determination.

Slowly, his hands growing steadier, he pulled the flag he had mounted to the wall down, pulled it apart, and braided it into a rope. Perhaps a bit extra of him, but what did it matter. Was he stalling? No... no. He was ready. It was time.

Alfred pulled up the swiveling desk chair, tying the rope to the ceiling fan, giving it a little tug to test its strength. It was ready. He was ready.

__________________________________________________________________

Ivan jogged down the hall, his voice loud as cannon fire. "America! You bastard, where you run off too!?"

Francis leaned in the doorway of his room, watching Ivan rush up and down the halls. "Russie, what are you doing? Are you going to fight with Amerique?"

Ivan came to a stop, panting hard. "No, not to fight. At least not today. He looked to be in an unhealthy state of mind, and I worry for his judgment."

Francis laughed, but his look of unease grew in his eyes. "I'm sure there's no need for concern, America wouldn't... do you think he would?"

Ivan shrugged, looking up and down the hallways. "I do not know. Have you seen America this evening?"

Francis nodded, waving a hand for Ivan to follow. "Oui, I saw him go to Angleterre earlier," England's room was not so far away, and he and Ivan were there quickly.

Francis knocked on the door. "Who's there? I swear if I get one more interruption..." came Arthur's disgruntled tone from in side. There was shuffling, and then the nation ripped the door open.

"Ahhh. Russia. France. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Has America been here?" Ivan asked, pushing into the room. Francis trailed behind, and Arthur shut the door behind him with a huff.

"Yes. What, are you trying to find him for another bloody brawl? I don't reckon he's in the mood- he seemed rather put out earlier," Arthur said, sitting back down at his desk, America's letter catching his eye. Apparently, it caught Francis's as well.

"What's this?" Said the Frenchmen, picking up the paper and waving it in Arthur's face.

"America's purpose for being here. He brought it over, told me to open it after the meeting tomorrow, if whenever I please."

"I please now," Ivan said, taking the letter from Francis and opening it before Arthur had time to complain. He opened it, glancing at the words with a heavy sigh. "Stupid letters do not look how they're supposed too. I cannot read this." he shoved it back into Arthur's hards. "Read."

The nation cleared his throat. The passage scrawled in on the paper was short, but the sentences were cramped and frenzied, the letter's varying in the quantity of ink. "Arthur, I've really made a mess of everything, haven't I? In my not yet three centuries, I've ruined the way things were. Weren't you all happier before me? Before I blundered in, so loud and intense. I... I'm sorry."

Arthur paused, his mind racing. Ohno. nonononono... "I'm so, so sorry. I... I never should've rebelled. It only made everything worse. I know I've hurt you- I hurt everyone, didn't I? That's just the way I am. I'll get out of your way now."

Francis looked at Ivan. Ivan was frozen- chilled to the bone despite the temperature of the hotel is quite warm. "I... I was not wrong in thinking he was out of sorts."

"Out of sorts? Mis Amis, this is suicidal! We must find him at once!" He ran to the door, Ivan on his heels, but England remained seated and still, clutching the letter. "What are you doing? Come, we need to find him, Angleterre!"

"...I... I didn't... he was in here, feeling like this... he's felt like this... I didn't notice?" Arthur stuttered, words failing him. "He was my colony, I've... I've failed him."

"You are yet to fail him, Arthur," said Ivan, his tone soft. "But if we don't act now... we fail."

Arthur nodded, standing up, the letter still in his grasp. He followed the others quietly into the hallway as Francis and Ivan talked. "He was not in his room, when I checked," Ivan said.

"Perhaps he was in Angleterre's room when you were looking for Amerique?" Francis suggested. "You two check there, I will go ask others if they have seen him." he was off before either of them could respond, leaving Ivan and Arthur to run down the halls toward Alfred's room.

"You think you failed because you love him, yes?" Ivan asked as they turned a corner, nearly slamming into Spain and Canada when they rounded a corner.

"What? That's ridiculous, why... why would you think that?" Alfred countered, his expression defensive.

"As if it wasn't obvious. We have all seen the way you look at him. Even though he gained independence, you are fond," Ivan explained. He was to busy checking the names on the doors as they ran to catch the blush on Arthur's face.

"Fine, but what about you? Why are you looking for him; why do you care? Wouldn't your leaders like it if he was dead?" Spat the English nation.

Ivan sighed. "I care not for the ideals of my leaders; I... I share the regards you have toward America. He's... intoxicating, with all his freedom."

The two nations might have laughed at this reveree if it weren't for the darkness of the situation. A deeper discussion for a later day- if they got a later day.

Ivan stopped sharply outside Alfred's room. He tried the doorknob, but it was locked. He could hear sobbing from within. Gross, messy, heavy sobbing. And then suddenly, it stopped. "America, open your door!" Russia shouted, but they got no answer- just hearing shuffling behind the door.

"America" He yelled, banging on the door. "Alfred! Let me in! Please! Let's talk, ok?" There was no answer. "Alfred!" he pleaded, tears forming in his eyes. Then he got an idea. He ran around the corner to his own room, grabbing the fire-extinguisher of the wall Canada had insisted they install. He ran back and began to hit the wood of the door, near the lock with the back end of it. Other nations came around to see what was going on, with the racket. They seemed to think that some fight had broken out and that Ivan and Arthur were going to team up and fight Alfred. The trim broke, and the two nations hurried in, Alfred kicking the door shut behind him to allow America the decency of privacy.

Alfred was hanging in the middle of the room, a rope tied around his neck. Arthur froze, but Ivan managed to keep a cool enough head, stealing himself to run forward, his hands shaking as he pulled America down. He laid the nation on the nearby bed, waving his hand for Arthur to approach. He did CPR for barely a minute before Alfred gasped, choking on air- though remained unresponsive.

"He's not dead, just has lost consciousness," Ivan sat back on his heels, his voice shaky. "His neck must not have broken, so he was just asphyxiating- and luckily, not for long enough."

Arthur nodded. What was he going to do when Alfred woke up? What would he say? There was a knock on the door that pulled him from his thoughts. "It's Francis, may I come in?"

Ivan nodded, not looking up. He was holding Alfred's head in his lap, running his fingers through the nation's hair. "Yes, and be quick to close it behind you," Arthur choked, and Francis was inside quickly.

He audibly gasped, running over and dropping to his knees next to the bed. "Sacré bleu! Is he-?"

"No," Arthur managed. Francis ran to the bathroom, got a towel, and dampened it, bringing it back and handing it to Arthur. The brit carefully placed it on the younger nation's head, and they stood in silence for a while... just waiting.

Alfred bolted upright with a shaky gasp. He looked around, saw the three nations and, his wet eyes filled with surprise. He dragged himself from Ivan's grasp, pressing his back up against the wall and curling up. The country was shaking with poorly suppressed sobs; his shoulders slumped; his confidence, the person the other nations had thought they knew, was gone. Who could have known that the biggest secret Alfred was keeping was that he wasn't ok?

The group stood utterly still. Neither the nations nor Alfred moved; both parties were unsure of what to do. Finally, Alfred spoke quietly, "You- You may want to leave. I'd... I'd hate for you to see me die, it's dishonorable." He glanced back up at the makeshift rope, which still hung from the ceiling fan. and reached into the waistband of his uniform, grabbing a gun, his eyes frantic. Francis reached forward as if to take it, but Ivan batted his hand away, holding his hands up carefully.

"Al?" Ivan asked, leaning forward. "Al, don't do this. I am begging you. Please."

Alfred shuddered and tugged himself away from Ivan's outstretched, surrendered arms. "I- I don't know how to stop. Everything's so... so numb. I feel like my head is going to b-burst." Ivan dropped his arms, glancing around helplessly. 

"Just set down the gun, Amerique," Francis asked, trying and failing to be helpful. "That's the first step to stopping, isn't it?"

Alfred shook his head wildly, his eyes closed tightly, his uneven breathy sobs the only noise you could really hear in the room. Arthur shook his head solemnly.

Arthur wordlessly sat down, crossing his legs, on the opposite edge of the bed from Alfred. Ivan followed suit. Francis loitered awkwardly, unsure what to do. "Hey," Arthur said in a cautious but firm voice. "Can I talk to you?"

Alfred nodded; he couldn't form words. "Ok. Would you mind setting the gun down so we can have a discussion?"

The liar shook his head, pinching his eyes closed. Francis began to reach out, to comfort him but managed to stop himself. "That's alright. You know we don't want to force you. We want to help you, Alfred. Will you let me?" Alfred flinched when he heard his real name.

Alfred didn't answer at first. Finally, he managed to open his eyes, looking at Arthur at Ivan. Ivan cleared his throat. "Err... I know you left a note and all that, but can you tell us why you want to kill yourself? Is it us? Or is it something else?"

Alfred tried to slow his breathing but ended up getting worse. Between gasps, he attempted to speak. "I... Don't want to... kill... myself. But... I came to realize that...I... am only harming... all of you. And... All of you hate me... but that's ok... I hate me too." He stopped, closing his eyes again. "Engl-Arthur," he groaned. The nervous nation perked up. "I-I seem... to be having... a... panic attack."

Arthur decided to risk it and got up. He moved cautiously over to Alfred, kneeling down beside the other nation. He slowly placed his hand on the other man's shoulder and began to speak to him quietly. "It's alright. Let's work on your breathing. That'll help. You know it will be a lot easier to breathe if you get that gun away from your face." Alfred slowly, gripping the magazine of the gun very tightly, brought the gun a little further away. Finally, he managed to hold it in his lap. "There you go. It's okay. Can you match my breathing?"

Alfred managed to get in about two breaths before his lungs disagreed with him, and he began to cough and choke from the pressure. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry! I can't... I just can't, I'm sorry. I'm-"

Arthur hushed him patiently. "Hey, it's fine. You don't need to apologize. You've done nothing wrong. I have as much time as you need. Let's try again." It took about 12 minutes for Arthur to calm Alfred down a little. Ivan moved closer, sitting on the other side of Alfred, and Francis sat to his left. Finally, when the American had managed to get in several steady breaths, Arthur spoke. "Good job, Alfred!" He quietly praised.

Ivan composed himself. "About the note, Alfred. We had no idea you felt this way." Alfred couldn't meet Ivan's eyes; all he could do was stare at the gun in his lap. "We would like to speak to you regarding the note you left for us," Ivan said, pulling at his collar.

"Yeah! Alfred, we don't hate you! Why would you think-" Francis began, but Arthur sent him a warning look.

"No, no, no!" Alfred whispered. He fidgeted, avoiding making eye contact with anyone. As he spoke, he picked at the scabs under his sleaves. Francis whimpered when he noticed. "That's not- France, It's not your fault, not really. It's my fault. I... I hate myself because I'm ruining everything. I hate that I've messed everything up, I hate that I can't ever do a single thing right. I-I..." He stopped, trying not to get to worked up again. "My very existence is a bane for all of you. How could you not hate me?"

Ivan tilted his head down, trying to make eye-contact with the dark nation. "America-err... Alfred, You are not hurting us. If anything, It's a better world because of you. I am not a perfect country- there's no such thing. But of course, nobody hates you."

Alfred didn't know what to say. "All this time- the name-calling- the criminalizing- how can that be true? I'm no less of a nation than the lot of you, but you've always treated me," he paused, eyeing Ivan and Arthur carefully. "Like we were nothing but toxic."

Alfred sat still for a while, staring at his lap. Francis began to say something, but he broke off when he realized that Alfred wasn't listening. "Alfred?" Arthur asked, his voice quivering a little. He reached around the nation, pulling him into a hug and put his hand on Alfred's shoulder. He shuddered slightly at the older nation's touch, seemingly about to pull away when he caught sight of Arthur's eyes. They were a little red-rimmed from crying, but they were full of nothing but love." You may think you have to be the bad guy," Arthur said softly. "But you've never been one to us. We love you- Ivan and I do. Truly- and I am so sorry that we didn't express it."

Alfred's lips quivered, his eyes tearing up. He glanced back at the gun a final time as if saying goodbye to it before picking it up and throwing it across the room. Francis yelped; Arthur covered his ears in case it went off like you see it do in the movies. But it didn't. It hit the wall, leaving a deep chip. Then, he launched himself into Ivan and Arthur's arms.

He wept and babbled like a child, begging forgiveness as he pressed his face into the older nation's shirt. Arthur spoke kindly to him, sliding his fingers through the other nation's hair. Ivan rubbed circles in on his back.

Francis smiled softly, seeming to take the hint and creeping out of the room. Maybe now wasn't the best time for a great discussion of feelings, but... at least now, Alfred knew that he was loved.

And that was enough.


End file.
